


Metamorphosis

by Lost_Elf



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amputation, Anal Sex, Body Horror, Dark, Disturbing Themes, Dubious Consent, Happy Murder Family, Heavy Angst, Horror, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Imprisonment, Jack is a maniac, Kid Angel (Borderlands), Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Rape, Siren Rhys (Borderlands), Torture, lots of triggers because this is a horror meant to make you uncomfortable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23268154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_Elf/pseuds/Lost_Elf
Summary: Rhys is an orphan, living in a foster home. He hates that place, but not enough to run. That is until he is threatened by an employee, and he decides to escape. Wandering through a forest with nowhere to go, he realises that it was a bad idea. Fortunately, he stumbles upon a house, and someone who can take him in for the night.Things turn from bad to terrible quickly, and Rhys has to discover new powers and decide how to use them. To do what is right in a world that damned him from the very beginning.
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	Metamorphosis

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, this is my usual level of dark. Rhys' life is shitty 80% of the time. No Angel was hurt in the making of this story.
> 
> Kinks include: Masochism, Butt Plugs, Rimming, Anal Fisting
> 
> Disturbing themes include: Children in sexual situations, implied sex trafficking of underage kids, etc. Repeat, no Angel was hurt in this story. Body horror, amputations, non-consensual body modifications, graphic torture, pain and blood. Eye removal included. Rhys losing his mind included. Briefest Mpreg.
> 
> I put shamefully lot of energy into this story. I love it with all my heart and hate it with burning passion. It's full of sin, hate and love, and now I'm basically writing a review on my own work, am I not? Well, I would recommend this work to anyone who likes dark themes, and likes to see our boy Rhys get hurt so much he turns into a happy little monster. I would rate 9.5/10, because this work needs at least 5K more words for me to be completely satisfied with it.
> 
> I'd like to thank [Sparky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkyNomad/pseuds/SparkyNomad), [Becky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiKiller/pseuds/HiKiller), [Nymphe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NympheSama/pseuds/NympheSama), [PunnyGamerGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunnyGamerGirl/pseuds/PunnyGamerGirl) and Jack for beta-reading, [Sasspiria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sasspiria/pseuds/Sasspiria) for the name and everyone for supporting this idea on Twitter! :) I want to dedicate this work to me, because I deserve it.
> 
> Nothing else's left to say. Enjoy! ^.^

Rhys had a really weird dream.

He was a small girl, and he woke up in a dimly lit, cold room. His white dress with pink flowers were soaked with water, muddy and torn. His small arms felt heavy, and he looked up to see that he is handcuffed.

It took him only a few tugs to slip both of his hands free. Small girls had no reason to be handcuffed, right? Those cuffs were mean. Just as he thought that, the object flew across the room away from him, a clacking sound startling him.

When the small girl calmed down, she decided to explore. Rhys knew that she knows where she is and why, but he couldn’t seem to remember. The room was completely empty, safe for the cuffs, and there were two doors – one smaller and one bigger. The girl went for the bigger ones first.

It was locked. Rhys pouted, frowned. Then, they explored the other door. By this point, he wasn’t sure whether he is the one controlling the body or just watching. Things just happened, some like he wanted and some differently.

Just as they walked around the room the second time, steps echoed from behind the bigger door. It was unlocked and opened, and Rhys watched the most handsome man his mind was ever able to produce walk in, put his hands on his hips and frown. “Sweetheart, what are you doing?” he asked, giving the girl a suspecting look.

“Why am I here?” she asked instead of answering.

Rhys felt excited to find out what’s happening here, but the man let him down. “You know damn well why,” he growled.

“I’m cold!” she said next.

“Well, it was raining outside when you ran, and this is what happens when you run in the rain – you get wet and cold,” he condescended. Did he lock her up after running from home? Was this the girl’s father? This seemed like a harsh punishment. The man sighed. “I’ll give you a bath.”

Rhys outstretched his arms, expecting to be picked up and carried to the bathroom, but the man left the room without looking back and locked the door again. He came back a few minutes later, carrying a plastic tub that people bathe small children in. In his other arm, he carried a bucket with steaming hot water. He put the tub on the floor and filled it.

“Don’t touch it,” he warned. “It’s too hot.”

The girl knew to listen to him when he said it’s hot, and so she stayed away from the tub. She stripped all of her damp clothes before he returned with another bucket. The man paused when he saw her waiting there naked, but then he filled the tub and tested the water.

Rhys looked down to see what’s special about his body, and he gasped when he saw blue tattoos similar to his. So, this was normal in this dream. “What are those?” the girl asked, raising her arm.

“The last gift from your mother before she died, don’t you remember?” the man sneered.

“What happened to mommy?”

“Don’t play stupid, Siren!” he shouted. Rhys took a few frightened steps back. “You know what,” he added, somewhat calmer, and left again.

The last time, he brought more water and a basket with bathing products. He mixed the water until it was the perfect temperature, and then he helped the girl in. He took a bath cloth and helped her clean her of dirt. But when his hand neared her genitals, the touch became wrong.

Rhys looked down to see not what he would expect from a small girl but his own penis. Somehow, in that dream, it even made sense. The man dropped the bath cloth and wrapped his big hand around him, immediately beginning to jerk him off roughly. Rhys screamed when the rough touches became too brutal, pain shooting through his body, and he woke up.

He panted and wiped sweat from his forehead. Knowin that he won’t be able to go back to bed anytime soon, he stood up and went to the bathroom to wash himself. He gulped down cold water like it could flush the weird sensation out of him.

Now that he was awake, Rhys knew that this was hardly the first time he dreamed about the girl. This dream was by far the most fucked up, but there were others before – reoccurring nightmares to add lack of sleep to the long list of why his life sucks.

Rhys pulled the damp shirt over his head and threw it away, so he could wipe the sweat off his body with a washcloth. The dream came back to him shortly, and he remembered how the man touched the girl. He sometimes called her Angel, which made Rhys wonder if they are a part of the same cult like his parents were. Thinking that this night can’t get any worse, Rhys looked down at his own tattoos.

They were different than those the cult painted on other sacrifices. More edges and lines than circles and curves. But it was the same blue. _Siren_... The man, Jack, called Angel a Siren. Six Sirens possessing unthinkable powers to protect the six continents. An old myth, a bedtime story, that caused so much shittery to both Rhys and many others before him.

The Cult of the Vault worshipped Sirens. The legend said that another Siren is born when one dies, so any time a woman in the cult was about to give birth to a girl, they painted Siren tattoos on an innocent victim and killed them. How Rhys escaped, how exactly his parents died during that, or why did the tattoos seem to grow perfectly with him, he didn’t know. Theoretically, he didn’t even know the rest for sure, but it was the only logical explanation as to why a kid had tattoos, no parents and a shitty life. He was cursed from the beginning.

When he cooled down, Rhys took another shirt and went to bed. He’ll have to wash the sweaty one tomorrow, else he won’t have anything to wear. They won’t allow him to use the washing machine for another three days, and he is running out of clothes presentable enough to wear in front of... _the clients_. He shivers.

Fortunately, Rhys fell asleep fast, and the dream only returned for a second to show him that the girl is no longer in the cold room but in a big bed. She is staring into the ceiling and his belly hurts on the inside where he knows there isn’t anything. He woke up rested enough to go to “work”.

Work in the foster home meant all kinds of things. Before Rhys dropped out of school, he didn’t have to worry about the things he would be forced into here. There was the small chance that he will get to have a normal job and repay the foster home with money. But every year, Rhys' marks would drop, until he wasn’t allowed to continue at all. He was good at certain subjects, but Math, Physics, Biology, Chemistry – they sunk his ship of hope.

So, now Rhys had to work. He was lucky enough and for him, work was serving drinks, washing dishes, emptying ashtrays. Other kids weren’t so lucky. Some worked on things they were good at, like playing music, singing or dancing for the guests, or carving animals from wood, but other, especially young girls... Rhys didn’t like to think about that. He hates this place and hates how police close their eyes to what’s happening there. He needs to get out.

Rhys is pretty. There is no point denying it. Every time he swept past the old, rich men in the jeans that barely fit him and a t-shirt that revealed his collarbones and a hint of tattoos (he wrapped white bandages around his left arm every day, so the rest wouldn’t pull too much attention), he would get a long leer or a slap on the butt. He knew what will eventually happen to him. The house of the foster home was big, and Rhys was kept far from any girl. He was carefully watched, so he would stay a virgin. They didn’t want him to even share a kiss with someone before they decide his fate, but Rhys wasn’t really interested in girls (like he said, cursed from the beginning – homosexuality wasn’t accepted in this community), and so he found his way around. But the few chaste kisses he and August or Vaughn exchanged could barely be called loss of virginity. That was meant to be sold for a lot of money one day.

He was just done preparing a round of a sweet drink called Sex On The Beach when he heard the one person he despised the most walk into the room. “Oh, what do we have here?” Hugo cooed at him. Rhys wasn’t sure whether the man really hated him or wanted to sleep with him. Either way, he was creepy. “Rhys, my man, why don’t you make me a whiskey?”

He had to bite his tongue, so he wouldn’t snap back that he can just pour himself one. “I have to deliver these,” he said instead, picking the tray up. “Guests come first, remember? But you are welcome to pour yourself a drink. The ice is in the second freezer; the first one stopped working. While you are at it, can you do something 'bout it? If I recall correctly, you _work_ here, right?” He didn’t try to slip past the man, knowing that he wouldn’t get far. Instead, he left through the other door and walked around through more rooms than necessary.

To his dismay, Hugo was still there when Rhys got back. He had his belt in his hand, and a barely concealed glee in his eyes. “Oh, Rhys, Rhys...” he sighed. “I see that your behaviour is getting worse every day. First you fail school to get attention of your peers–” lie – most of Rhys’ peers hated him as much as the adults – “then it takes weeks to teach you to do one drink, and even then, you think you can be sassy. But don’t worry. I shall teach you a lesson in humility. Pants off and get on your knees.”

Rhys managed to stay silent while Vasquez spilled lies and provocations like it was air to him. When he was done and nodded his head towards the spot where he wanted him, Rhys let out a chuckle. “Yeah, no, fuck you,” he said and run off. Technically, Hugo had the right to punish him whenever he wanted, and if Rhys disobeyed, he could tell Vallory, and he could be forced to undergo something unpleasant, but he relied on the man’s pride and that he won’t go telling anyone that he couldn’t bring one puny kid to his knees.

When he was on the other side of the house, Rhys started cleaning bathrooms. The guests can probably serve themselves, he supposed. The sooner this is done, the sooner he can help in the kitchen to make lunch. But he didn’t have peace for long. About an hour later, Hugo found him again. Bumped into him by accident when Rhys was getting more fresh water.

“Oh, here you are,” he said, pleased smirk on his face as he leaned in the doorframe. “I believe we were in the middle of something before you so cowardly ran off...”

Rhys is about to say something when he realises an important fact – he is in a small bathroom, Hugo is blocking the door, and there is no other way out. His courage only reaches as far, and he gulps, looking up at the man again.

“Oh, what’s that look?” Hugo coos. “Aren’t you a little coward, Rhys? Can’t take a beating? Well, then you shouldn’t have been a brat.” He takes a few steps closer, cornering Rhys against the sink. “Of course,” he says, close enough that his minty breath assaults Rhys’ nose, “I’m sure we can work something else out.”

And just like that, his hands are on Rhys’ hips, squeezing, and the spell that held Rhys frozen to the floor breaks. He shoves the man away with all the strength he can muster and slips around him, but Hugo grasps his arm before he can run off.

“You think you can run, Rhys?” he asks. “This is your fate, buddy. Vallory wants ten thousand for your flower, and I’ve already saved nine. This is happening no matter how hard you try to close your eyes and pretend that it’s not the only thing you that will ever make you beneficial for the house.” His voice drops low, and he whispers: “Sooner or later, you will be a whore like the rest.”

Rhys tugs at his arm, frees himself and runs off once more. This time, however, he doesn’t stop when he stumbles upon another task. He runs until he is in his room all the way up in the attic. Unspilled tears make his eyes burn as he closes the door. He is breathing fast and yet he feels like all the air was taken from him. This can’t be happening.

In that moment, it seems like the best idea is to run. Rhys doesn’t have anything to lose. No school, no friends, no home. He can only gain, right? And so, he packs all of his clean and dirty clothes into a pillowcase (because where would he get a backpack?) and forms a plan. The foster home is on the edge of the city, and it’s only a five minute walk to the forest. Or two minute run.

The forest is huge, but Rhys believes he can get to the other side by the end of the day. There is another town, smaller, but big enough to hide him. When he still had hope that he will see Vaughn ever again, he believed that this is where they sent him. Who knows, maybe they will meet again? Only one way to find out.

When all his stuff is packed, Rhys opens the window. It wouldn’t be possible to leave through the main door. In fact, Rhys hasn’t been outside in three months. Window is the only way.

He sits on the roof and slowly slides down to another part. Baby steps, he tells himself as he moves inch by inch towards the edge. He tosses the makeshift bag over first, listening for a thud as it lands on the roof of the garage eight feet lower. He’d only done this once before, and some of the bruises he got from his inevitable fall were worse than the ones from the resulting beating.

Rhys closes his eyes when he lowers himself to the next level. Then it’s only a jump down and a long run. No-one seems to be after him yet, but his body is so full of adrenaline that he feels like there is an army breathing at his back. He pushes the bag over the edge and then slowly lowers himself from that one too. The fall is only a couple feet, and when his legs touch the ground, his head snaps to the side. He expects shouting, maybe dogs, people chasing after him, but there still isn’t anybody. Not testing his luck, Rhys breaks into a run. He has to stop himself before running off without the bag.

He is sure that a two minute run was never so exhausting. It feels like he ran for miles when he finally meets trees. Dropping to the forest floor, he welcomes the cold dampness of the leaves on his burning hot body as he catches his breath. There still aren’t any voices behind him.

To his dismay, it takes Rhys at least fifteen minutes until he is comfortable _walking_. His leg muscles burn and refuse to move faster, and what was supposed to be a quick walk through the forest turns into just a walk. He doesn’t stop, and that might be a mistake, but he can’t afford to lose another second.

Late does Rhys realise that he doesn’t have any water or food. The weather is against him too, and the sun hides behind a cloud. After another hour, it starts lightly raining. Rhys puts on three t-shirts to keep himself warm, but it doesn’t do much for his slim body. The coldness only pushes him forward. He has to keep moving to keep himself warm.

Rhys doesn’t allow many thoughts into his head. He tries to remain empty, watch the nature, meditate. He just lost home, if it could ever be called that. He is on the run. He isn’t good at anything, and he has no plan, but even dying in the forest seems better than letting Vasquez touch him.

Many hours later, during which Rhys learns how boring a forest can get, he realises that dying in the forest is a bigger possibility that he admitted before. The sun begins to set, and he is still nowhere near the end. There are also no roads to tell him if he is even heading in the right direction, and the thought that he got lost terrifies him even more.

Rhys forces his numb and aching legs to move faster, but there are always the same trees around him, no clearing. Just as he begins to panic, the world turning completely dark as night sets, he sees a small light in front of him. He almost laughs with relief as he stumbles towards it.

The light turns out to be coming from a big house, almost a small mansion. Rhys doesn’t think about how weird it is that there is no road connected to it at all. He keeps walking until he can make out that the light is coming from the open front door of the house. There is a silhouette standing with their hands on their hips, looking in his direction.

Oh god, what if they think he is dangerous? What if they refuse to help? Rhys tries to look as unthreatening as possible when he slows down and walks towards the house. He keeps his head down, noticing a berry bush with a piece of white cloth tangled in it. Just as he steps into the small clearing around the house, the person in the door speaks.

“Hurry, boy, I don’t have all day!” they call.

Rhys stops for a second, confused, and then he hastily crosses the clearing, walks up the stairs and stands in front of them. “I…” he begins, but the person stops him with a gesture.

“You are lost and need a place to spend the night. I know, I know. Get in.” They step aside, allowing him to walk in.

Rhys hesitates again. This is so wrong he doesn’t know where to even begin. “You won’t murder me, right? I mean, I don’t know you, and—” He doesn’t get to finish the sentence as the person groans and pushes him inside, locking the door behind them.

The boy only panics for a second. When he looks up, he isn’t panicking anymore. He is frozen in terror. The person – the man in front of him – is the one from his nightmares. He is even more imposing in real life (if this is real life), still much taller than Rhys. And he is grinning as realisation slowly washes over the young man.

“I-I-I I know you,” Rhys stammers. “I-I’ve seen you, I, in my dreams…”

“I know, pumpkin. It’s confusing, I’m even more handsome in real life, you are terrified, please don’t kill me, blah blah,” he mimics a squeaky voice. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he grins more, taking a step towards Rhys, who in turn turns around and runs towards the nearest door. It’s a huge double door, probably leading deeper into the house – anything is better that that man. But before he comes near, the door closes with a loud bang. On its own.

Rhys stumbles backward, his back hitting something solid. Before he realises what he ran into, the man has his arms around him – one around his waist and the other one pulling at the bandages on his left arm. “Stop struggling, cupcake,” he hisses when Rhys manages to lightly elbow him in the stomach. “I just want to have a look.”

Rhys stops struggling, not because he was told to, but because there was no way he would free himself from the iron-like grip anyway.

“You see? Wasn’t that hard. I knew you would be a good boy,” the man condenses, causing Rhys to shiver at the pet name. He feels the bandages slip down from his arms, and he closes his eyes. He can’t even look at them most of the time. Stupid tattoos cost him everything before he even learned to walk.

The man behind him hums, running a hand over the paintings. “Fascinating. I’ve never seen one like that. You are truly something different, Siren.”

Siren? _So, that is what this is about_ , Rhys groans inwardly. It’s not the first time someone suggested he is a mythical Siren just because there is a bit of blue paint on his body. “So,” he asks, voice hoarse and shaky, “you are from the Cult of the Vault?”

The man snorts. “I’m better than those lunatics! Or worse... Who am I to judge?” He adds a chuckle and finally releases the boy.

Rhys stumbles to create at least a few feet distance between them. When he is far enough, he turns to the man. He can’t bring himself to meet his eyes, so he only looks at his chin. “I’m not a Siren,” he says as confidently as he can. “I wasn’t born like this. I was meant to be a sacrifice.”

“Were you now?” the man asks in amused voice. “And how do you know that?”

He doesn’t, that’s a valid point. But what’s also a valid point is that there is nothing like _supernatural_ and _six mythical Sirens_. Those are fairy-tales.

“You see, Angel told me all about you,” the man continues. Coldness creeps down Rhys’ back at the mention of the name. How could he dream about real people? Is this just another nightmare? It can’t be real. “She told that me you haven’t discovered your powers yet, and that you’ve been seeing her. She told me that you are on the way to us this morning, and here you are! Took you long enough. I almost thought my baby girl is lying to me...”

Another wave of cold washes over him as he remembers all the sexual aspects of his dreams. Not all were like that, but there was a lot of it, none pleasant. If Angel was this man’s – Jack’s – daughter... God, Rhys really hoped the dreams weren’t real.

“Don’t worry about your powers,” the man says, like it ever crossed Rhys’ mind. “I’ll help you with that. But first, are you hungry?”

As if on cue, his stomach rumbles. It’s almost surreal, because Rhys is used to being hungry, but his stomach chose to make noise anyway.

“I’ll take it as a yes,” the man chuckles. “I’ll warm up the leftovers for you. While I’m gone, feel free to try to escape, but don’t hurt yourself. The glass in the windows is bulletproof and won’t break. Have fun.” With one last smug smirk, the man leaves.

Rhys feels silly, and it's stupid, when he tries to open every door in the room. All of them is locked, and the huge windows covered by heavy curtains aren't even openable. In the end, he decides to sit down on an armchair. The room seems to be a lounging area, but the furniture is so uncomfortable Rhys can't imagine anyone spending time there willingly.

Jack comes back carrying a tray with a bowl of bean soup and a glass of water. He places it on a coffee table in front of Rhys, noting with a satisfied smirk that he made himself comfortable.

The glass of water disappears instantly, Rhys only just noticing how thirsty he was. Jack leaves to refill the glass while he eats. He warns him that he has to eat all of it to gain strength, and when Rhys asks how can he be sure that Jack didn't add anything extra to the food, he laughs at him, explaining that it would be too low for him, and he needs Rhys’ trust anyway.

The answer is obvious, but Rhys asks anyway. “Will you let me go in the morning?”

“Hah! No way! You are staying here, pumpkin. You’d better get used to these walls. You won't be seeing anything else anytime soon.”

Maybe it’s because of how exhausted he is, or because of the shitty day he had, but Rhys doesn’t panic as much as he thinks he should. For now, he just accepts it. How much worse can it be than the foster home? (Except for the things he saw Jack doing to Angel... He won’t think about those now.)

“You look pretty tired, kitten,” Jack notes. “Want me to show you your room?”

“Do I have a choice?” Rhys grumbles.

Chuckling, Jack gets up and offers him a hand. Rhys refuses to accept help and stands up on his own. His legs almost give out under him, the muscles hurt so much after relaxing.

“You _do_ have a choice,” the man says as he leads him into the house. The doors seem to open for him on their own. Must be some modern system. “I also have a pretty cellar. You can stay there if you don’t like your room.”

“I’ll take the room, thanks,” he mutters. He shivers at the memory of a cold, empty room, warm bath, big hand jerking—

Rhys forces the memory away, instead looking at Jack’s hands. They are as big as in the dream. How could he know so much about a man he’d never met before?

Jack leads him two floors up. The house seems to have the ground floor, the cellar, two other floors, and possibly attic. But it’s not as large as the foster house, just a high block.

“Window is locked, door will be too. Take a shower, go to sleep. You'll need strength for tomorrow.” Jack seems to be about to leave when he stops. “Actually…” Turning back to Rhys, he orders: “Strip. Angel said that you are a boy, but I want to be sure. Aaaand, I wanna see the tattoos.” When all Rhys does is stare at him in disbelief, he frowns. “What part of strip you didn't understand? Or do you need help?” he steps forward, and that's when Rhys decides that a little humiliation is better than learning how much of a maniac Jack is.

He drops the three damp shirts first, and then lets the jeans fall. He doesn’t own a belt, nor underwear, so they only ever stay on his hips by sheer force of will, held by one button. He tells himself not to look up, but he does it anyway. When he sees Jack's face, he takes a step back, knees hitting his bed. He’d seen that face before – in his dream. Hunger, lust. It’s wrong and bad, and he wants to run.

“Easy,” Jack murmurs when he notices his distress. “I won’t touch you, yet.” He gives him a few long looks, mostly to the tattoos on his chest and hips, and then half-heartedly wishes him good night and leaves.

Being the naive boy he is, Rhys tries the door once. Of course, it’s locked. Then, he walks into the bathroom connected to his room. It's big enough to hold a shower stall, sink and a toilet. A towel is ready, reminding him that Jack, somehow, expected him.

Rhys wants to have a quick shower, but when water that’s actually _warm_ hits his skin, he moans and decides to take advantage of it. He spends at lasts fifteen minutes under the stream, and only the fact that he is exhausted brings him out. There is a new toothbrush and paste laid out for him on the sink, so he brushes his teeth. When he finds something relatively clean and dry in his bag, he puts it on and crawls under the sheets. The house is a little cold, but he has three warm blankets, so he’ll be able to sleep comfortably.

He shouldn’t, he knows. He should stay awake and aware. Try to find a way out. But he tells himself that he won’t accomplish anything tired as he is, and he gives in to the darkness.

He has another nightmare.

The little girl is playing in her room. The walls are light pink, the furniture white wood; it’s a nice place. She has a lot of toys. She is playing with a big stuffed unicorn while a stuffed elephant floats around her in random directions. She doesn’t seem to mind that it’s moving on its own.

Suddenly, Jack comes in, and she startles. All of the toys fall to the floor, and only then Rhys realises that more things were flying. Jack is screaming, but he can’t hear him. He says something, and Angel follows him out of the room.

Whenever Rhys gains control, he tries to look around. He memorises the house details, and also catches a glimpse of Angel in a mirror. She has beautiful black hair and big blue eyes. Rhys must’ve stopped paying attention, or the dream shifted, because suddenly, he is in the cellar. He only knows that it’s the house’s cellar because Angel knows it. She/he is strapped to a metallic table, and then Jack takes a big axe and chops his arm off in one strike.

When Rhys wakes up, the sun outside is shining. He peeks out of the window and is surprised to find the sun high up in the sky. He doesn’t remember ever sleeping that long. As if on call, Jack comes into his room. He actually knocks, but he doesn’t wait to be let in.

“Glad to see you are awake,” he says. He seems distracted, looking at Rhys, the bed, his tattoos, eyes flicking here and there. “Take a cold shower to wake up. You won’t get breakfast, because I don’t want you to throw up. And use the toilet – I don’t want you to pee yourself, either.” With that said, he leaves.

Now that he actually has enough energy to be scared, Rhys slowly grows from sleepy to terrified. With every second, he realises more and more that he is absolutely screwed. There is a crazy man who believes in Sirens holding him in his home, there might be his daughter being sexually assaulted or maimed, there is no exit, he had to strip himself for him yesterday…

The list keeps growing until it’s so hard to breath that Rhys collapses to the floor. He feels overwhelmed like he never did before. No beating was as bad as this situation. He is breathing fast, but no air is getting to his lungs, and his head begins to hurt, and suddenly… he feels _something_. He feels it dancing on the skin of his left arm, growing in his chest, burning in his mind, and he lets it out. It seems so big inside, but when it leaves, it’s actually just a sparkle.

Rhys watches in fascination as three or four sparkles dance on the skin of his left palm. They die out quickly, but their brightness stays burned into his eyes for another minute. He feels much better after that, and he is able to make a logical decision. He takes a warm shower, uses the toilet, and waits. Wherever Jack wants to take him, it will be closer to the exit.

As expected, Jack comes into the room just as Rhys puts on clothes. It’s fascinating that he accepted the fact that Jack knows what he is doing so easily. He follows him through the house, noting that he recognises some details that he saw in the dream. But it might be just the fact that he walked there yesterday.

He is led into the attic room, which… isn’t closer to the exit door. It takes only one rough shove from Jack to get Rhys to climb up the steep stairs. He has to cover his eyes for a second, because the room is filled by bright light from many lamps.

“I’ll need to see what I’m doing properly,” Jack explains. “And Angel won’t hear you screaming from here.”

It’s like Jack can sense his plans before Rhys even forms them, and when he turns around to try and run, Jack is already behind him, holding him. Without effort, Jack lifts him and throws him across his shoulder, kicking the door shut at the same time. Its inner side is covered by polystyrene to make the room actually soundproof.

“Let me go!” Rhys screams anyway. “Help!”

“Calm down, kid. This is for greater good.” The man has no trouble tossing Rhys onto a metallic table – the same one he saw in the dream – and pulling a leather strap tight across his waist to keep him down. Other straps are added with Rhys fighting back and Jack always having the upper hand. Rhys can barely move when they are done; straps go across his chest, thighs; individual ones keeping his wrists and ankles in place.

“Wh-what are you g-gonna do?” he asks, voice breaking. “Please, don’t-don’t hurt me. I-I’ll do anything.”

“Sweet,” Jack comments. “How about biting down on this, so you don’t bite your tongue off?” he presents him with another strip of leather. When Rhys closes his mouth tightly, he laughs. “This is all very endearing, cupcake, but if you’re going to suffer anyway, isn’t it better to be able to keep some dignity and not scream? And as a bonus, not bite your tongue off…”

Reluctantly, Rhys opens his mouth and lets Jack put the makeshift gag in. He gets a patronising pat on the cheek and _good boy_.

“Now, I’ll need you to keep very still. If you move too much and I miss, I’ll have to start over on another part of the body, and that would a) be a shame, b) leave you with multiple unfinished tattoos. We don’t want that, do we?” Without waiting for an answer, Jack pulls a chair to sit on Rhys’ left. He also brings a table with work instruments, and Rhys is torn between closing his eyes and trying to wake up from the nightmare, and turning his head to look.

There is the sound of a marker being opened, and Jack pushes his head to look in the other direction. Rhys makes out the shape quite easily. He keeps still while Jack draws circles on his neck. The activity on itself is innocent enough, and he knows something worse will come, but the simplicity of it calms him anyway.

When the drawing is done, Jack hums and takes another instrument. He warns Rhys again to keep still and begins to poke the skin with an old-fashion tattooing tool. It hurts a lot, but Rhys had had worse. He can handle it with only occasionally biting into the gag.

That changes a few minutes later when Jack finishes the first circle. Rhys feels something change, but he can’t put a name on it. Nevertheless, it suddenly hurts like bitch, but not in his neck. At first, the pain is in every part of his body, making him arch slightly in the restraints. Then, it focuses on his left arm.

“Easy, boy,” Jack soothes half-heartedly. “If you move now, you might get stuck in this phase.”

Only the fact that this is probably just one phase of something that probably won’t kill him is soothing, and Rhys focuses all his struggling into the lower parts of his body, keeping his head and neck still. He lets out an occasional whimper, always getting something vaguely nice in return.

Covered in sweat, shivering, and absolutely exhausted, Rhys barely notices when it’s over. He blinks tears out of his eyes and looks up at Jack questioningly. The older man helps him spit out the leather, and then he unstraps the bindings.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

Rhys wanted to scream, and he did, but it came out as a mere groan. “Seriously?” he asks hoarsely. “You’re asking me how I feel after _this_?! What was in the paint? It made my body burn.”

Jack ignored his question. Instead, he helped him stand up. “Okay, pumpkin. Raise your left arm,” he ordered.

“Why?”

That was apparently enough for Jack, and he stepped away. “Dammit. It didn’t work,” he groaned. “Okay, let’s get you some food. We’ll continue later?”

“Continue what? And what didn’t work?” Rhys refused to move until at least one of his questions was answered. He folded his arms on his chest and stood stubbornly.

“Urgh, you are so—” Jack groaned again, but then he waved his hand. “Okay. So, this little trick was supposed to make you obey my every order. It works perfectly on humans, but only a few humans are able to survive the procedure. It’s not as dangerous to Sirens. But it apparently doesn’t work. We’ll have to awaken your powers in another way.”

“Powers?” Rhys physically felt it all click in his head. “You did all of this because you believe in Sirens?! It’s a fairy-tale, you psychopath!”

“I did it to save the world, kiddo,” Jack answers calmly. “And you not believing in Sirens — not believing in _yourself_ , heh — is getting a little old. There is nothing like supernatural? Then explain this.” With a wave of Jack’s hand, the door opens.

“Automatic door.”

“Oh, for f—! Okay, level up.” Jack waves his hand again, and the table with the tray of tools shakes. Everything rattles. More furniture joins until everything in the room is shaking, the lights flickering. It stops when Jack makes another gesture, and this time, Rhys notices something unusual about his left hand.

“What is this?” he asks, pointing at the bracelet on his wrist. It’s made of gold and a purple crystal, but it’s not nice. Everything about the bracelet is rough an unappealing.

“A bracelet,” Jack answers dismissively. “I answered your questions, kid. Now you better come with me.” He walks out of the room, and Rhys follows him.

“How did you do that? The moving things?” he asks, not yet believing.

“Seriously? How dumb are you? I was a little surprised you dropped out of school, but now I’m slowly getting it…”

Jack leads him to a huge kitchen and orders him to sit while he prepares a meal. Rhys considers running – or maybe grasping a knife and hurting Jack – many times, but he decides to just sit there. What can he do against someone who can control the house, anyway?

As it turns out, at least he is getting better food than in the foster home. Jack makes fried chicken and fries, and he sends Rhys to his room to eat there. He prepares two more plates, one smaller. Probably for Angel.

While slowly walking up the stairs, Rhys tries to look for the pink room, but he doesn’t see it, nor any other sign that the girl actually lives there. There are no toys all over the place, no photos.

In his room, Rhys checks his neck out in the mirror in his small bathroom. There are multiple circles in an artistic pattern, all black. At least it looks nice. Maybe no-one will ask questions once he escapes… He has to escape.

The food is good but turns sour every time he remembers where he is. He considers trying to break the room and run, but the fall would hurt him, and there aren’t any levelled roofs to help him climb, nothing.

Few hours later, Jack comes into his room again. He gives him a long look, and Rhys already knows that he won’t like whatever comes next.

“Are you a virgin?”

“What?” He blinks. “That’s none of—”

“Are you?” Jack only asks with more force, stepping closer to Rhys who in turn backs away until he is pressed in the corner of the bed against the wall, knees pulled up. He nods and looks away, cheeks burning in shame. “Ever kissed?” Another nod. “Masturbate?” Shake. “Don’t lie.”

Sighing, Rhys closes his eyes, hoping it will get easier. “I’m not lying. There isn’t either privacy or time or mood at the foster home. I only… did it a few times, and it wasn’t worth the effort.”

“Huh,” Jack seems to think for a while. “Alright, we’ll try that. Come with me.”

Rhys follows without being prompted again, because he already learned that Jack always gets his way. He follows him to another room not far from his. In the door frame he freezes, because he recognises the huge bed there. He remembers that particular dream…

Of course, Jack is impatient, and he pushes him inside. To make things worse, he speaks in his usual uncaring manner. “I’ll let you choose – handcuffs or a collar?”

“Wh-what? None!” Rhys tries to back away, and Jack lets him, but of course the door is locked now, even though the man didn’t bother to lock it and there was no sound hinting on a locking mechanism snapping in place.

“Kitten, you can either choose one, or you get both. And drop the clothes.”

Rhys considers getting a weapon. Maybe he can force Jack to… negotiate? Because he won’t ever be able to wrestle the older man… “C-c-cuffs,” he stammers, still backing away.

“You gonna be running till I catch you?” Jack still doesn’t seem even bothered by his behaviour. Like this was normal for him. When Rhys nods, though, he lunges at him so fast Rhys barely gets to blink once before there are arms around his waist, and he is picked up and tossed over a strong shoulder.

“Ah—! Jack, wait! Please!” But it’s pointless, because the older man has no trouble ignoring his pleas, and no-one will hear him in the forest, and when thick cuffs made of iron, and for some reason also the purple crystal, connect his hands to the bed headboard, he gives up. He closes his eyes tightly shut and freezes, unmoving on the bed.

Jack hums in appreciation, praises him. He pulls his pants off in one swift movement, offhandedly noting that they should get him better-fitting clothes, and then he pushes his shirt as far as it would go. His hands are incredibly warm and soft, and Rhys wonders shortly if they would make him feel good in another situation, like that one time when him and Vaughn held hands, but this nightmare is too terrible to even try to imagine that.

He expects Jack to make more of his lame soothing sounds and words, but the older man doesn’t say anything as he takes his pants off and takes something from the bed nightstand. He speaks when his slicked fingers first touch Rhys, but it’s hardly reassuring. “It will hurt like bitch, but hopefully, this will work, and we won’t have to switch to harsher methods.”

One finger pushes in, and Rhys grits his teeth not to whimper. It feels unnatural, he wants to push it out but can’t. It’s just one finger, but already too big, and for a second he thinks how many it will take for him to break. And this time, Jack doesn’t shut up.

“You might think that I’m a monster. You probably do. But I’m only doing this because I know no other way to awaken a Siren’s powers.” Rhys swallows the urge to snap that he is not some fucking Siren, along with another whimper as Jack pulls the finger out and thrusts back. “And when I have two of you beautiful, powerful creatures, I’ll cleanse this world of everything bad. I’ll fucking save it!”

Rhys sobs when Jack jabs another finger in. He is sure it’s not supposed to feel like this. It hurts, it’s wrong, everything in him is screaming at him to get rid of it. He tries to breathe through it, but all the bad feelings make him tense up again any time he relaxes.

“Any other time, I might fuck you just because you are pretty. Because, honestly, for a skinny boy from a foster home, you are definitely something, kitten!” He adds another finger, this time slowly enough not to seriously hurt Rhys, but it still burns and hurts, the pain travelling from his ass to his spine and chest, making him gasp and tug at the cuffs. “I bet I could make you pass out from bliss on your first time. Too bad we are in this situation.”

“We can do it the nice way,” Rhys forces out through gritted teeth. He doesn’t even know what he is hoping for at that point. For his first sex not to hurt; that would be nice.

“Nice offer, but it needs to be this way,” Jack dismisses, still in that stupid casual voice. He pulls his fingers out, and then there is the sound of meat on meat, presumably as he lubes himself up. Rhys still refuses to open his eyes. “Once you feel the thrill of power, you will, hopefully, understand.”

Warm, big hands are in his hips, pulling him closer. The tip of Jack’s cock touches his hole and immediately begins to push in.

The first two inches are just very uncomfortable. He feels stretched, wants to pull away, but the hands hold him in place. As Jack thrusts deeper, it begins to really hurt. It burns, spreads his insides too wide.

Jack stops for a few seconds to tell him that they are halfway there, and it’s as good of a reassurance as punching him. When he begins to push further, the pain seems to grow tenfold. Rhys breaks into sobs, begging. “Stop, please! I can’t! Please, stop, no more!”

Jack doesn’t stop again until he bottoms out. When Rhys feels their hips connect, he lets out a whimper. For a second, it seems that Jack forgot about his goal to make the young man suffer. His big warm hands stroke the skin of his belly, thumbs rub soothing circles in his hips. He gives him a minute to calm down. And then he snaps out of it.

Jack actually does build up the pace slowly. It’s not slow enough to stop the pain, but Rhys is almost sure he didn’t tear anything. But eventually, Jack is pounding into him hard, making him cry out or downright scream on every thrust. Rhys arches off the bed and seizes up under the pain, but it just doesn’t stop. White spots block his vision when Jack finally comes with a grunt.

As soon as he can, Rhys rolls on his side and curls up. He feels dirty and used, he is hurting, and he just wants to scream and maybe sleep. To his disgust, his traitorous dick is half hard, and Jack asks him if he wants help with that. He doesn’t push it when Rhys shakes his head, though.

“Now,” Jack says, pulling his pants back on. “I’ll undo the cuffs, and you will focus on your powers. Don’t destroy the house, please; there is an innocent little girl inside.”

Contrary to his words, Jack steps away from Rhys, not undoing the cuffs. Only when he is on the other side of the room and asks him if he is ready does Rhys remember that Jack has some powers. He nods, not expecting anything, and the cuffs snap open.

A wave of despair, frustration and fire hits him as soon as the things are off. He recognises it from that morning, and he instinctively knows how to let it out. A few sparkles shoot out of his hand on a thought. And that’s all. The feeling is gone.

Maybe... Rhys really has some powers. As shitty as the rest of him.

“Wow, that was unsatisfying,” Jack chuckles. “Looks like we’ll have to work on it some more. But now we know that you truly are a Siren. Awesome, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Rhys sighs, unsure. This just means that Jack won’t let him go. “This... This happened before. When I woke up, I... did something like this.” He admits that because he hopes that Jack won’t level up his tortures, but judging by his dismissive hum, he barely considers that.

“Don't worry, I know what to do.” It’s like a lightbulb appeared above his head, and Rhys can sense a terrible plan forming. He doesn’t expect what comes next. “Not today, though. You need to rest. Do you think you can walk?” Rhys shakes his head. “Alright, you can stay here for a while. But first...” he rummages in some drawers, and then he makes an _aha_ sound and kneels on the bed just behind Rhys.

“Relax,” he orders, and then he pushes _something_ into him. It hurts and feels hard on his aggravated rim, and it seems to settle in and refuse to move further or out. “There. Wouldn’t want you making a mess in my bed, huh? Don’t take it out.”

Jack leaves, and Rhys wishes shortly to awaken the powers once more, so he can burn the bed down, himself with it. Then, he just cries.

When he finds the strength, and the coldness of the room begins to shake his body, Rhys climbs under the covers. He lays on his back for a while, thinking about how the fuck does he get out of this situation, but then the thing shifts in him, and it begins to hurt a lot, so he rolls on his side. In that position, he finally falls asleep.

It’s another dream about Angel, but it’s not the nightmarish type. Jack is holding him in his arms, stroking his hair back from his forehead and murmuring soothing little nothings. The room is cold, and when Rhys looks down, he sees that he is naked, but Jack is warm behind him, so he leans back and accepts the comfort.

When Rhys wakes up, there is a warm body pressed against his back. He startles and sits up, only to regret it right after. His whole body aches.

The room is dark, but it’s not hard to figure out that the other person is Jack. He is woken up by the movement, and he stretches, popping his joints. “Awake yet?” he asks. “I wanted to kick you out in the evening, but when I saw you sleeping... Anyway, this way, we can continue what we began.”

It takes him a second to realise the meaning, but that’s all Jack needs to manhandle him on his belly. He puts a pillow under his hips and spreads his legs, ignoring Rhys’ ugly crying and begging.

This time, Jack doesn’t let him choose. He puts a collar from the same materials on his neck and lets it on after they are finished. He doesn’t let the plug in, and he carries Rhys to his own bed afterwards.

That night, for the first time in a long time, Rhys doesn’t dream about Angel. He doesn’t dream about anything.

He thinks that it will be better in the morning, that somehow, Jack will be good to him, but the first thing that happens is another rape. Jack is suspiciously gentle this time. After the act, he continues to finger Rhys. He jerks him off with his other hand, bringing him to overstimulation and a wrecking orgasm so unlike those that Rhys had before that he considers that they weren’t orgasms at all.

But Jack is still not done. He takes the lube he brought and another object (he explains that it’s a butt plug, and he laughs when Rhys tells him that he never watched porn), and pushes the huge thing inside him. It’s many times bigger than the one he used yesterday. The widest part is bigger than Jack’s dick, and the narrow part is at least as big as two of his fingers. It leaves Rhys gasping and trembling.

“Good,” Jack pats his thigh like he was calming a mule. “Now, I want you to change your sheets, my sheets, and after breakfast, you can swipe the floors anywhere where you are let in.”

The thought of moving with that thing in him is ridiculous. He can hardly think straight, it hurts, and it’s touching the weird spot inside him... Rhys whimpers and curls up tighter. “Can’t move,” he sniffs.

“Nothing like that. You either do as I say, or I come up with something worse. I’ll be so nice that I’ll get the clean sheets for you, but that’s all. Now chop-chop, move.” With a last mean pinch to his side, Jack gets up and leaves to do his thing.

Rhys moves slowly. Baby steps. First, he rolls over on his other side. He hisses when the plug inside him moves. He skips the sitting up phase, instead getting his knees on the floor and then pushing himself up. Standing up is... doable. Any movement is not.

He moves slowly, hissing, whimpering and cursing. Soon, he is covered in cold sweat. Jack comes back with clean sheets and a large shirt he can wear, so he doesn’t have to put pants on, and Rhys tries to beg him to take it out, but he leaves immediately.

When both beds are changed, Rhys wobbles down the stairs. It’s the worst movement he was forced to do so far, making the plug shift on every step. Finally downstairs, he stops and breaths hard, blinking white spots out of his vision.

“Food’s ready.” Jack appears in front of him. He gives him another of those long looks, and Rhys knows an opportunity when he sees one (through teary eyes).

“Jack, please, take it out. It hurts a lot – I do-don’t think it’s supposed to feel like that. Please, I’ll do anything. I’ll— I’ll blow you. Please, just take it out.” He makes the best puppy eyes, not having to bother to fake tears, because they are already rolling down his face.

“Are you trying to bargain with me, kid?” Jack asks in genuine disbelief.

“You would try anything too, in my situation,” Rhys mumbles. More clearly, he asks: “Well, is it working?” He pouts a little, hoping that this is what the clients of the foster home meant when they talked about _fuckable lips_.

“Have you ever done it before?” Jack asks, but his interest is clear. When Rhys shakes his head, he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly, and nods. “Get on your knees.”

“But the plug—”

“My rules, or it stays in,” Jack warns. And so, Rhys carefully drops to his knees, keeping his legs wide, so his poor hole gets some relief. Jack undoes his belt and pulls his half hard cock out. He taps Rhys’ pouting lips a few times, smirking. That probably means that this look works. But it won’t stay this easy for long. “Open up.”

Rhys obediently opens his mouth wide enough and rolls his tongue out. Jack hums and pushes in a couple inches, testing him. So far, it’s not that bad. The taste is strange but not unpleasant, just a slightly sweaty skin. The feeling of having something shoved into his mouth and pulled out repeatedly makes his mouth water, which is definitely weird, but still manageable.

But then Jack starts pushing in deeper each time, and it sets off Rhys’ gagging reflex. He chokes and sputters saliva everywhere, and he knows that they are still far from Jack touching his throat.

The older man gives him some advice, like to breathe through his nose and think about something else than the feeling of his throat closing. He is mostly content to just tease the insides of Rhys’ mouth or to slap his cheeks with his cock, and after a few minutes, he jerks himself off. He comes in Rhys’ mouth, warning him to swallow. It’s not the most disgusting thing Rhys had ever had.

“Colour me impressed!” Jack cheers. “You did it! Now, stand up, bend over and brace yourself.”

Rhys does so, leaning on a nearby table with a vase. Jack tugs the plug out slowly, tugging and releasing until it comes out with a humiliating wet sound. He pats Rhys’ side again and offers to help him with his half-chub but that is the last thing Rhys wants right now.

“Okay, one more thing,” Jack decides, putting the enormously looking plug on the table. “Oh, by the way, this toy isn’t normal. It’s from a specialised shop for really kinky and experienced people. And _you_ took it like a champ!” Like that should make him feel better. “Now, focus on your powers, the collar goes down.”

Rhys does focus. He imagines the fire travelling through his arm and setting the psychopath ablaze. He imagines him dying in flames. And once he is free, he’ll find Angel, if she even exists, and run.

But when the lock snaps open, and the collar falls to the floor with a clank, Rhys doesn’t feel the usual surge of power. Instead, he has another dream. He is Angel, but he is in the hall with Jack at the same time. Both realities mix for a second before the dreamy wins out.

The girl is shivering and scared. She is scared of Jack. He is a monster, and he did something terrible. And he'll probably do it once more when he finds her.

There are steps in the corridor where she is hiding, and she stops breathing completely closing her eyes and praying.

“Here you are!” Jack tosses her over his shoulder and carries her away. When he reaches his bedroom, he tosses her on the bed, the fall reverberating through her right shoulder, and he is on her immediately, pushing his too big fingers in, making her scream out in pain, but it’s Rhys’ voice that echoes through the room.

“Snap out of it, Rhys!”

Jack shook his shoulder, bringing him back to reality. The more _real_ reality. Not that both didn’t feel extremely real. It took Rhys a few seconds to remember where he is and what he is.

Realisation at what he’d seen hit him, his eyes widening in horror. _Oh no_ , he thought. _Not her_. Rhys was no hero, but when this little girl was concerned, he was ready to try and be one. But what could he really do? The power was gone once again, and left was a confused scared boy.

“Don’t hurt Angel!” he blurted out, at last. “Please, you can hurt me, but leave the girl alone.” He hardly believed himself as he said those words. Yet they needed to be said.

Jack looked puzzled. “Hurt? What do you mean, kid? I would _never_ hurt my daughter.”

“But you did!” Rhys argued, against his better judgement. “I saw you. That day when I ran – I saw you— She was locked up.”

“Because she ran. And she was only there for, like, forty minutes. Taught her a lesson.” Jack shrugs, waiting for Rhys to stop rambling.

“No, but I saw what you did. You were giving her a bath and touching her. It wasn’t the first time.” He trembled at the memory of various dreams where those things happened.

Jack still didn’t catch up. “You kinda need to touch someone when you are washing them, dumbass.”

The rage bloomed in Rhys like something dark. It kept under the surface, not ready to bubble up just yet, but he took comfort knowing it’s there. It gave him the courage to say the last thing. “I saw you touching her down there, not like a father would touch daughter. I saw you take advantage of her multiple times. You monster—!”

The rest of the sentence mixed with a sharp sound. The feeling of falling came next, and then pain. Rhys’ head misses the edge of the decoration table only by an inch, but he hits the wall, nevertheless. He sinks down, shaken and numbed by the force of the hit. His cheek is burning where Jack hit him, and an annoying tone settles in his ears.

But all that is a minor inconvenience compared to what will probably come next. Jack is _furious_. He looks ready to kill him, and Rhys doesn’t doubt that he would be able to strangle him with one hand. He is swearing and screaming, his spit flying everywhere in his rage.

“How _dare_ you say something like that?! I would _never_ hurt my, my baby girl! Whatever you saw, it wasn’t what you think it was. Angel is _everything_ I have; I wouldn’t _ever_ do that to her! _You absolute moron!_ You think that _you_ having weird sexual dreams about my little girl makes _me_ a monster?! Ever thought about what that makes _you_?”

Rhys distantly realises that he is trembling and crying, but the world is slowly slipping away from him. He welcomes the darkness, grateful that he won’t have to be awake for anything Jack does to him, but the man has other plans.

“Ohoho, no blacking out on me, pumpkin,” he says as he crouches by him. Subconsciously, Rhys tries to back away from him, but his movements are slow and sloppy. Jack effortlessly picks him up, putting his left arm over his shoulder and hooking his right under Rhys’ right. The young man is barely any help as Jack drags him through the house.

He expects to be led to the cellar, or maybe outside, where Jack can kill him and get rid of the body. But after the slow move, they end up in the kitchen. Jack dumps Rhys on a chair, helping him sit straight and telling him not to dare to pass out. First, he examines his hair, and when he finds no blood, he takes a frozen pack of green beans and tosses it to him. The thing hits Rhys in the chest and falls to his lap, stinging on the bare skin of his thighs.

Hissing, he carefully brings it to his cheek. There is no sweet relief from the pain, but it will probably stop the swelling, and the coldness keeps him awake. Jack looks slightly less angry, but the man is unpredictable. He paces the kitchen and keeps rambling about how stupid Rhys is.

“You are the one telling me that I have superpowers!” he argues weakly. “Every detail of the house or you I saw in those dreams is right! How should I know that this isn’t?”

“Because _I’m not a fucking child rapist_!”

Rhys bites his tongue before mouthing off that as far as he knows, he definitely _is_ a rapist. The man might be a psychopath, but he seems protective of his daughter. And Rhys senses another hit coming.

Suddenly, Jack seems to have an idea. “When did you see Angel in the cellar?”

“On the day I ran,” Rhys repeats himself. “About, uh, three in the morning? It was definitely past midnight, and many hours before dawn.”

“Was it still dark?”

“Yes,” _that’s what I just said, asshole_.

Jack stops his movements completely, looking at Rhys with barely concealed fascination. “But,” he says eventually, “she only ran at seven in the morning that day. That means a few hours after you saw it.”

It takes a minute for the realisation to hit him. “Are you saying… that I saw the future?” he asks, raising an eyebrow and hissing, because even that tugs at his cheek painfully.

“Part of it, I guess,” Jack shrugs. “I definitely didn’t touch her… inappropriately.” His mouth forms a disgusted sneer, and then he forces it off. “Do you remember what she was wearing?”

“White dress with pink flowers. Orchids, maybe? And… handcuffs.”

“Correct.” Jack rubs his mouth, clearly thinking. “So, let’s assume that your powers are fire and seeing the future. You’ll probably be able to learn to control both, like Angel. Coaxing your inner fire out was easy; this one took more effort. And we’ll have to find out if the future can be changed, because that would be freakin’ cool! And they’re still not awake, right?”

Rhys knows that whatever his answer will be, Jack will hurt him anyway, and so he says the first thing on his mind. “My cheek hurts.”

It’s like breaking a spell, or maybe casting a spell, and Jack instantly deflates. Something like guilt appears on his face, and he slowly walks to Rhys. The young man lets him check out the bruising, hissing when it’s touched but not shying away.

Jack’s conclusion is that he should keep cooling it. He brings him some crème for the bruise, and then gives him pancakes for breakfast. Chewing hurts, but Rhys is hungry, so he eats them fast. He is then allowed to go to bed.

Laying under the blankets and hiding from coldness, Rhys tries to remember all of his weird dreams from the past months and compare them. He tries to find a clue on what is a part of the vision and what’s just a mix-up. It’s always like he was watching Angel’s life, and then suddenly something is happening to him, but he is still in her head.

Jack lets him rest for the rest of the day. He calls him down for lunch and dinner, but he doesn’t insist on Rhys swiping the floors. By evening, he has a nasty bruise on his face that he keeps putting the crème Jack gave him on, but it probably does nothing.

After dinner, Jack puts the collar on him again, and rapes him again. When the collar is taken off, Rhys sees something for a second, but it’s blurry and he doesn’t recognise the shapes. Creating sparkles was more satisfying.

“You really did supress the powers good,” Jack hums.

It probably means that he will keep coming up with worse ways to torment Rhys until something snaps. The younger man focuses all his willpower to calling the powers forth like he did the first morning, but the warmth isn’t there. He tries to escape a few times, but no doors or windows open for him; even the ones that don’t even have locks on them are somehow jammed. And after one incident, Jack doesn’t let him get close to sharp objects, not that Rhys got far enough to hurt himself. Too weak.

The oncoming days are filled with Rhys either being locked in his room and Jack being god knows where, or by Jack being with him, hurting him again and again, trying to find something that will trigger him.

His begging or attempts to hide or run are fruitless. It only works once – when Rhys reminds Jack that beatings are pointless, because he had many of those. With anything else, the man is unyielding. And food. He always feeds him well, and Rhys was sure he would be already gaining weight, if he wasn’t losing it at the same time due to stress.

Because it brought them best results, they focus on bringing Rhys’ body to its physical maximum, humiliating him and hurting him when he is vulnerable. He spends countless hours tied up with Jack fucking him or using toys on him or forcing him to come against his will. It always gets some reaction from the Siren, but it’s not enough.

One time, Jack tries to hurt him while there is no object restraining his powers. (It didn’t take Rhys long to figure out that that’s what the iron and purple crystal things do. The question why Jack is wearing something similar remained, though.) Rhys managed to set Jack’s sleeve on fire just as he fucked into him, but that was that, and the man laughed it off after he exhausted the flame.

Rhys has been in the mansion for eight or nine days when Jack comes into his room beaming. “I’ve got it all ready, pumpkin! I’m hun— ninety-eight percent sure this will awaken your powers! Follow me!”

As always, Rhys does as Jack tells him. They don’t go into the kitchen for breakfast, which is a little disconcerting. The fact that Jack opens the door leading to the cold, iron stairs to the cellar is next. Rhys hasn’t seen his shoes in days, and his feet hurt from how cold the steps are. He walks first, Jack close behind him.

He’d been there before, in his dreams. He’d seen the big empty room the most, but the smaller, adjacent one too. It looked different today. The floor was covered by foils, there was the heavy metal table (this one looked newer than the one in the attic), and many trolleys with trays full of sharp medical instruments.

The thought about lunging for a knife – slashing his own throat open, escaping this hell – barely crossed his mind and left. He knew that even if he was able to get through Jack, he wasn't strong enough to end it. He will just follow his orders and let him push him until he breaks, or some miracle happens.

Jack is not patient enough to let Rhys climb on that table himself. As soon as he strips, he helps him and immediately begins fastening various straps on him. Ankles, thighs, waist, chest and one wrist. His right arm is left free.

“Another tattoo?” the young man asks weakly, trying to tell himself that he can be brave while he is trembling.

“Something bigger,” Jack answers dismissively. He walks around the room, turning on multiple lights, almost blinding Rhys. While trying to look away from all the scorching white, his eyes meet one particular table in the corner. There is something that looks like an artistic piece. It’s a human arm created from various metals, rocks, crystals and one fake bone – or rather just the shoulder joint. There are more parts to it; it probably isn’t finished.

One nightmare comes to his mind.

Rhys’ eyes widen just as he feels a needle enter his shoulder. Jack hums a few soothing words, stroking his sides and face while Rhys slowly loses control of his body.

“There you go,” Jack hums. He does something – Rhys doesn’t see what – and then he asks whether he felt any pain. Rhys didn’t feel anything at all, but there is no way he can tell Jack. He only manages to blink. “Good. The next one will put you to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He is not sure when did Jack stick the other needle in him, but eventually, his eyes begin to close. Or maybe they don’t, and it’s just the black spots in his vision overgrowing anything else.

* * *

“Deep breaths, kitten. Breathe. I’m here; don’t worry. We’re done.”

For a long while, Rhys doesn’t feel anything. He can only listen to Jack’s voice and do what he is told – breathe.

Minutes later, Rhys realises that he is crying. He doesn’t know why, but he is sobbing, hiccupping and whimpering. He calms down, not remembering why he should be upset. Jack rewards him by praises that calm him even further. He is stroking his hair, brushing it away from his sweat-damp forehead.

In the next wave of awareness, the coldness gets to Rhys. He is shivering, the room is still cold, but Jack is behind him, big, warm, holding him and keeping him safe. From what, he doesn’t know.

After maybe another hour, Jack shifts. His face appears in Rhys’ vision, and he taps his cheek to wake him up, because he’d been dozing off. “Hey there, pumpkin,” he smiles. “Do you think we can move somewhere more comfortable now?”

Rhys does an inventory check. He can move his legs, his arms, neck. His right shoulder hurts more with every passing minute, but it’s not too bad. Like a pulled muscle.

“I think I can…” his voice is slurred from whatever Jack injected him with.

Wait.

Rhys remembers two injections, medical instruments.

“Good. Go to my bedroom. We didn’t wake your powers yet, but I think we are close.” Jack pushes him to his feet and steadies him. That’s when Rhys sees it. When he looks down, he doesn’t see his right arm. He sees the sculpture, moving on his command. His arm, _created from scrap and trash!_

He doesn’t scream, nor freeze. His fight or flight instinct finally kicks in. He needs to get away from this room before Jack takes more from him.

As he slowly forces one leg in front of the other, Jack starts talking again. “And don’t worry about the cuts. You healed yourself as soon as I took off your collar. Angel has healing ability too. Pretty neat, I tell you, when you pull out a milk tooth and there is no blood at all. Kid’s happy, you’re happy. Freakin’ cool. But the healing took all the energy we built up, and your powers are still dormant.”

The man cut off Rhys’ arm.

He cut it off and replaced with a sculpture!

And he is talking about it like it was _nothing!_

Rhys moves faster, stumbling up the stairs. He doesn’t care about being naked anymore. He needs to hide, he thinks frantically. His or Jack’s rooms are too obvious, and no other will open. No, he needs something better. But as he looks around, he doesn’t find anything, and he can already hear Jack coming after him.

As a last resort, Rhys hides in a dead end corridor behind a small chest of drawers. Jack passes the turn, continuing to his room, but Rhys doesn’t get a chance to run for it, because the monster is turning around immediately.

“Here you are!” he says when he finds him not even a minute later, and he tosses him over his shoulder and carries him to the bed. Rhys is dropped unceremoniously, and his shoulder shoots pain in every direction, eliciting a gasp out of Rhys.

In an instant, Jack is on him, pushing him into the mattress and attacking his backside.

“Jack, stop!” Rhys gasps out. “I’ve seen this in a dream! Stop!”

That gets the older man’s attention, and Rhys hurriedly continues. “Don’t do this, please. You won’t achieve anything. I’ve seen it. _Please_.”

“Rhys.” The name is half-sigh. Jack doesn’t continue the assault, however, nor does he pull away. “We are close; I’m sure! Maybe if we push you a little more…”

“It doesn’t work like that, and you know that,” Rhys lies. “This won’t work.”

“What exactly did you see?”

Threading carefully, Rhys describes the vision he had when Jack pushed him too far.

“Jack, you… you wanted to know if we can change the future, right? Let’s try now. The vision was today, after you… you… after you… my arm…” His voice breaks, but the message is clear. Jack finally pulls away from him.

“Alright. Good thinking, pumpkin. Get some sleep.”

He might regret this later… “Wait, please! Don’t go.”

Jack is so warm…

“I’ll need to start making lunch soon,” Jack frowns at him. “What do you want?”

“Just stay until I fall asleep,” he pleads, pushing a lip out in a pout. “Please, I… I don’t want to be alone.”

There is a minute filled with silence as Jack contemplates him. In the end, he takes his shirt and belt off, and he climbs into the bed. He helps Rhys make himself comfortable and holds him, shushing him when he whimpers or shivers too much.

Not even with the big man can Rhys find peace. He feels like crying, but there are no tears left, and his chest constricts every now and then. He is anxious and pent up, lost. He wants to run as far away from Jack as possible, but at the same time he wants to get closer, hide under Jack’s skin, crawl into the small space between heart and ribs.

“Why did you do it?” he asks after a while.

“You know why,” Jack answers. He is calm, relaxed, maybe even dozing off. He doesn’t see the bad he did, or maybe he truly believes that it’s for greater good.

Deciding that distracting himself might help, Rhys gives more questions. “What is the arm made of?”

“Iron, gold, some shiny rocks from the river, tiny bit of eridium… I dunno, just added what I had at hand. Had to get a fake shoulder joint, because I really didn’t want to improvise on that. The thing is heavy; it might take you some time to get used to it, but then it’s gonna be awesome. It will be super strong and has more nice perks I’m keeping as a surprise.”

What the hell is eridium is a question for another day. “How does it work? I mean, it doesn’t have any reason to work, but it’s… obeying me like it was my… my own arm.” To prove that – not that Jack needs proof; he probably believes everything he does is perfect – he wiggles his fingers, snaps them, flexes his fist. Everything moves as it should. It doesn’t feel right – it definitely misses the softness of skin and smoothness of muscle – but it’s good enough, so he doesn’t feel like some kind of machine.

“Good question,” Jack praises and ruffles his hair like dog’s. “I created it, and Angel’s _magic_ gave it _life_.” There are hints of sarcasm in his voice, but he is probably telling exactly what happened. Or what he thinks happened. “The only really complicated thing was getting rid of your old arm – bones are hard to destroy. But I’ll manage, eventually.”

Does that mean that his severed off arm is still somewhere in the house, laying around? Rhys shudders. Jack probably takes it as something positive, because he puffs his chest and continues bragging about his creations. “You see, Angel’s powers were asleep for only a few years. It’s not usual for them to wake up in small kids, but it can happen. And I had to find a way to help her contain them. That’s when I discovered eridium.” He presents Rhys with his wristband, namely the purple crystal.

“It has varying qualities depending on how you use it, in what form, or what you combine it with. With iron, it subdues your powers. With gold, it… Basically, I created a link between me and Angel. I can use her powers through that link at all times. Awesome, right?”

All Rhys can think of is a scared little girl, confused by the things happening to her body and used by her maniac of a father. Nothing _cool_ about that. But he nods anyway. “Will you control mine too?” he asks. The picture in his head is him tied up in the cold room downstairs, drained by a psychopath.

“I won’t have to. You will have full control of your powers, and you will use them for what is right, not to turn Mr Longnose or ButtStallion into actual living creatures. You won’t believe how hard it is to snoop a diamond pony out of a little girl’s room, kill it and get rid of it, and then get her a new plush same as the old one. Kids, I tell ya…”

Rhys tries to imagine that surreal scenery, but he fails just like when he imagines himself possessing some crazy powers. This is not the world he grew up in. “Do you have a plan for our next try?”

Jack must have interpreted his tone like excitement, because he ruffles his hair again and kisses the back of his head. “I do.”

“Will I like it?”

“Probably no. Hopefully no. Definitely no. But… You _will_ like the outcome.”

It’s not a comforting promise, nor are the touches what Rhys needs, but he decides to find peace in them anyway, no matter the cost.

“Wanna help me make lunch? I want to see you crush an apple in that hand.”

* * *

It turns out that the arm really is strong. And heavy. Rhys’ shoulder hurts more with every minute he spends not laying down. He will probably get used to it, as Jack repeatedly tells him, but he doesn’t want to get used to it; he wants to have his own arm, but then the picture of his severed, rotting arm comes to his mind, and he gets sick.

Crushing an apple to amuse Jack is only satisfying if he imagines that man’s balls in its place. Trying to punch him with that new, strong appendage proves futile, because Jack is still faster, stronger, more agile, and definitely more ready for combat than him. He ends up with another slap on the face, only a light one, _educating_ , and he turns even grumpier.

“Where is Angel?” he asks as he sits on a dinning chair and moves gnocchi around in his plate. He hopes to get a raise out of the other man, like poking a dog with a stick. Maybe if he prods hard enough, it will hurt him, and who cares if Rhys gets bitten in return? It’s not like Jack can bite his arm off.

“In her room, playing.”

“I haven’t seen her once, nor any of her stuff. Are you sure there lives a child in this house?” He prods more. But it brings no results, as Jack only tells him that his kid knows how to pick up her toys after herself.

“What about photos?” Jack considers them pointless. A stupid plan forms in Rhys’ head. “Did your wife consider them pointless too, or do you just erase every evidence of your mistakes?”

He barely gets to finish the question before Jack is on him, pressing him face-down on the table. He ran around the large dinning table so fast Rhys might be impressed if he wasn’t currently concentrating on setting the man on fire. It doesn’t work, but it’s a satisfying picture, nevertheless.

Jack growls and hisses behind him. “Don’t. Bring up. My wife.”

Sore spot. Bingo.

“Why?” As soon as Rhys speaks up, Jack presses him down more harshly, one hand on the back of his neck, making it hard to breathe. But that can’t stop him. “Did you cut her arms off when she couldn’t satisfy you?” Jack pulls him back by the soft hair on the nape and smashes his face into the table, growling curses and empty threats. “Did you cut Angel’s tongue out, so she wouldn’t remind you of her existence unless you need her?” Another hit, and Rhys’ sight turns blurry.

“Stop it, you stupid ass,” he hears before darkness takes him. “You have no idea what you are talking about! You know _nothing_!”

* * *

The world is dark and spinning. Rhys’ veins are filled with lead; he can’t move. He is warm, though, so he doesn’t really have anywhere he would like to go. He just wants to lay on his back, not his stomach. It’s better for the arm.

“Stop stirring, idiot.”

Rhys tries to force his eyes open, but he can’t. He whimpers pathetically, fearing that he won’t see anything ever again.

A hand pushes against his shoulder, causing him to roll over. A huge part of the warmth disappears, and Rhys whimpers again. There is a long, exaggerated sigh, and then there is light and Jack’s face.

“What?!” he asks, clearly annoyed. “Don’t tell me your head hurts; I can see it’s already healed, whenever that happened.”

He doesn’t feel pain, no. And now that he can see again, his only worry is that he wants Jack to hug him again and to be as far from Jack as possible. He stays rooted in place, allowing Jack to make the decision for him. But the older man is confused, like he was the one to wake up with the man who beat him to unconsciousness now cuddling him.

“What?”

Rhys groans, figuring out that he’ll have to do all the work. Jack yelps as he is suddenly pulled down, landing on his forearms just in time not to crush the boy under him. “Whoa— Hey, there,” he grins at him. “Can I help you?”

“Shut the light and hug me,” Rhys orders. It shocks the other man to silence, that stupid smirk falling from his lips. He probably isn’t used to being ordered around like that, leaving him stuck between getting angry and obeying. In the end, he turns the lamp on his nightstand off and pulls Rhys closer, so he can hug him.

The dream Rhys has is something from the future for sure, but he can’t yet understand what’s going on. It’s more surreal than his other dreams.

Angel is playing in her room. All of her toys have their eyes covered by pieces of cloth, and they are all in the middle of the pink room, on a fluffy rug, sat in a circle. The girl is dancing around them and singing, in her actual voice. The song makes no sense, and it doesn’t stick in Rhys’ memory.

Jack walks into the room with a plate of lasagne and watches her play for a while. Concern flashes in his face, and he puts the dinner away to drop to one knee, getting on the girl’s height level. “Hey, sweetheart,” he smiles at her in what could be a gentle way. Angel runs to him and hugs him, her arms tiny compared to his big body.

“Did you… hear anything weird today?” Jack asks hesitantly, stroking her long hair. It reaches well to her knees, not cut in a long time, if ever.

“Nu-uh,” she shakes her head. “Why? Did you give Rhys the blue yet?”

“Yeah. I did. Today.” Jack’s hesitance doesn’t disturb the kid, and she starts curiously peeking at her dinner instead. “So… Did you hear anything, or…? How do you know?”

“I’ve seen it in the big chair. I think he is sad that he can’t see she sun. You should let him see the sun, dad.”

Not for the first time, Rhys wakes up with _what the fuck_ on his lips. He must’ve said it out loud, because suddenly, there is sharp pain in his side from a pinch.

“Language,” Jack chastises him. “Expected something else from you on this sunny day. How about good morning?”

“It depends,” Rhys sighs, putting his arm over his eyes to shield from the sun. “Are you gonna rape me before breakfast? That will decide if it’s good.”

Jack chuckles like he said a good joke. Maybe he did. “Kitten grew claws overnight? How about your dreams? Seen anything nice?”

“Nuh. ‘Twas weird, probably not even real. Like, you know, _real future_.” Rumbling of his stomach prompts them both to get up, Jack continuing Rhys’ earlier rape joke. At first, he cringes any time he hears the R-word, but it seems stupid. He’s got superpowers, metal arm that obeys like flesh, and rape is a constant part of his life. Why should he be shy about it? He learned not to be too skittish around Jack too.

After eating an omelette, Rhys is sent to his room. Admittedly, it sours his mood a little. He gets bored there, nowadays. The fear is but a memory, a presence at the back of his mind. There isn’t anything he can do to entertain himself, and although he needs a lot of rest after the things Jack is doing to him, spending the whole day in bed is not fun.

He spends most time huffing and sighing, laying in different positions. Thinking about the weird dream he had tonight is fun for some time, trying to decipher it. For example, what big chair did Angel talk about? There wasn’t any chair that you would describe big in her room. But even that gets old soon.

When he dozes off shortly before lunch, Rhys dreams about the chair. He only sees it for a brief second – Jack picking Angel up and helping her sit in a big chair of various materials, lots of the purple stuff, some plants that seem to set their roots into iron. He wakes up soon to the sound of Jack calling him down for lunch.

Boldly, Rhys mentions that he is bored. And since then, he has to sweep floors. When he complains, Jack threatens him with the big plug he sometimes made him wear, and sweeping floors without it is lesser evil than with it, so Rhys sweeps the floor in every room that is open to him.

In the evening, Rhys finds himself freshly showered, wearing only a towel draped over his shoulders and a pair of boxers that Jack gave him. He knocks before coming in, finding the older man already in bed.

“Hey, kitten,” he greets him, putting away a book. “What are you doing here?”

Rhys didn’t think as far as to what he will say, so he thinks something up fast. “My room is too cold.”

Judged by Jack’s chuckle, it is a very weak excuse. “Sorry about that. Should I put more effort into the house heating?” he teases.

“Just move.” Rhys rolls his eyes, already climbing in the bed. He snuggles close, finds the best position to leech off the other man’s warmth, but he is so full of energy, still, that he can’t fall asleep.

The room is soon filled by soft snoring noises. Jack didn’t have a problem with falling asleep, as it seems. His chest raises and falls in a lazy pattern, his hand on Rhys’ shoulder twitches occasionally. He looks peaceful, the monster.

An ugly thought finds its way to Rhys’ mind – he could just snap his neck. He could reach out with his right hand and strangle him to death, break his windpipe, or maybe beat him, dealing a punch for every slap he received.

He doesn’t do any of that. He watches Jack sleep for maybe an hour, and then he falls asleep himself to have some strange dream about blue rocks. He doesn’t kill the monster who broke his body, nor does he do anything to use his new strength to escape. At least Jack does all of that because he thinks it will save the world, and not for his pleasure like those people in the foster home.

The next day brings rain and thunder, and not even Jack seems to be in the mood to be locked up god-knows-where in the house. He is not with Angel either, but Rhys hardly cares about the fact that the little girl is left alone, as he is naked on the dining table and Jack is doing… things. Awesome, mind-blowing things down there, with his tongue, and Rhys is reduced to a shivering, moaning mess.

Jack is fucking him with three fingers, all the while continuing to tease his rim with tongue and teeth, when Rhys finally comes with a shout, without even touching himself. His release cools immediately, this room not as cold as his, but not heated either. He squirms, but Jack doesn’t let him move away.

“Where are you going? The good part is only just starting!” With that, he pulls his fingers out and positions himself at Rhys’ slick entrance. He doesn’t thrust in harshly like usually. Instead, he pushes in slowly, giving Rhys time to get used to it, and the boy lets him, hardly in a position to complain about nice treatment.

And it feels… actually nice? Jack moving in and out slowly, stretching him just right, touching the spot that he sometimes massages with his fingers. Rhys’ dick begins to fill again, and soon, he is arching off the table, meeting Jack’s thrusts with his hips. He’s clumsy at first, but he seems to be a fast learner in this.

When he nears his finish, Jack fists Rhys’ cock and jerks him off, making him come shortly before spilling inside him. He collapses on him, pressing him into the table and breathing heavily.

“So,” Rhys rasps after a while, “this is how sex is supposed to feel? I like it… I like it a lot.” A few breathy chuckles follow the confession, along with a blush covering him from the tips of his ears to his neck.

“Oh-ho-ho, kitten... I’ll have so much fun with you...”

* * *

When they don’t cook and eat, they fuck. Both men are virtually inseparable. Rhys has discovered a new world of pleasure, and Jack is more than willing to show him all the nice places. And when the older man offers to switch positions, letting Rhys top, the younger man’s stamina keeps them in bed for many hours. He loves bringing Jack to orgasm just by pounding his ass, and Jack loves seeing Rhys order him around.

But apparently, nothing has changed, and Rhys finds himself strapped to the metallic table in the cellar once again. He is topless, slightly cold, and definitely nervous.

“So, uhm, you were joking when you said I’ll be awake for this one, right?” he chuckles, voice trembling. The tools Jack is preparing are a good hint on what he will lose this time, as well as the many leather straps holding his head in place. A leather piece is ready for him to bite into, and he saw a polished ball of a blue stone, as big as his eye...

“Jack, please, say something,” he begs, although, there probably aren't many things that the older man could say that would make it better. _Don’t worry, pumpkin, this was just a joke_ – that would help, but Jack is not joking.

“I have to do this, kitten,” the man sighs. “Don’t worry; your powers will heal you as soon as I take the collar off. And I'll be quick.”

“But why an eye, Jack? Can’t we take a leg, or just a finger? Another tattoo would be cool. Jack, an eye is... What if it doesn’t work?”

“Of course it'll work; it's Angel's magic!” Jack frowns at him. He is ready, and so he takes the leather piece and pushes it at Rhys’ lips. “Open up, baby,” he coaxes when the younger presses his lips tight shut. “You don't want to bite your tongue off. I could probably replace it with a piece of silk or something, but I'm not sure about the taste buds...”

Just the line of thinking frightens Rhys enough to get him to open his mouth wide. He bites into the leather, the strong taste making him shiver. He's even more aware of what's happening, and he panics, tugging at his bonds and pleading Jack with terrified whimpers and tearful eyes. His right arm has been strapped by a chain, and when the metal scratches metal, it feels weird, like a light burning, momentarily distracting him from the spoon-like tool Jack got from his table.

“Breathe, pumpkin,” Jack reminds him. There is something like remorse in his face, like he regretted doing this.

 _Then stop!_ Rhys wants to scream. _You don't have to do this! Please!_

“Deep breath.” That’s the last warning he gets, and then Jack is holding his eye lids open and pressing the tool under them.

At first, the metal is cold. Then, there is burning, forcing Rhys to tear up and try to blink. Jack doesn’t hesitate, and as soon as he finds the right angle, he pushes the tool deeper.

Rhys screams so hard the leather piece falls out of his mouth. The sound echoes in the room, and Jack grunts as it hurts his ears. But he doesn’t relent still, wiggling the tool until it meets something and cuts it loose. If the pain wasn’t painting Rhys sight white, he would probably notice the difference.

The tool is pulled out, blood briefly dripping on his face, but he only gets one second to suck in a breath before it’s plunged back in on the other side. He screams again, as once more, something is cut loose.

“Almost done,” Jack soothes, stroking Rhys’ hair once. He throws the tool away and picks up another one. “Breathe,” he reminds, and then he is scooping the eyeball like ice cream. For the last time, he meets resistance, but the sharpened tool deals with it without a problem. Rhys sees in real time as his sight goes from white to none in the left half of the world, and he faints for just a second.

The rock is smooth, and it slips through Jack’s fingers as he tries to push it into the blood-filled eye socket. When he finally manages to push it into place, it’s like he pushed a whole fist into Rhys’ skull. He screams and screams, but he can’t seem to pass out again. So much pain shouldn’t be bearable, but his body just won’t give in.

Jack raises his arm, touching the stone with a finger of his left hand, and the painful white is back to the left half of Rhys’ world. Then, the collar snaps open, and all the pain goes away at once as his inner fire rolls through his head.

He can see, he sees Jack’s worried face with his _left eye made of stone_. _What right does Jack have to be worried?! It’s_ Rhys’ _body that has been maimed!_

Rage continues to boil through him, and the fire doesn’t leave even when all the pain is gone. The memory is still there, loud and clear. _Jack scooted his eye out with a sharpened spoon!_ _He is looking down at him in worry, now taking a step back._

An unpleasant smell fills the room, and Rhys looks down to see the leather strap on his left hand charring. _Fire_. It takes a single thought, and all of his restraints are burning. His tattoos shine a bright light, but he hardly cares about them. As soon as his limbs are free, Rhys stands up on his feet and marches towards Jack. A ball of concentrated fire forms on his palm, and he is ready to burn the man alive when—

Something stops him. Like an invisible wall, a power gripping his wrist and bringing it down. The change in the air is enough to make him dizzy and finally send him to unconsciousness.

* * *

Coming to is slow and feels like hungover. Except the headache has a much less fun origin. Just like the arm, the eye feels heavy, like – well – like a stone in his head.

His stirring and soft whimpers catch Jack’s attention, and a big warm palm starts stroking his cheek. “Good morning, beautiful. Feeling better?”

On a strange instinct, Rhys reaches for his powers. The rage and pain of betrayal are almost gone, but the will to set Jack on fire (at least a little... at least a sleeve...) is still strong. But he can't call his powers forth, even though they are _right there._ Whimpering, Rhys starts pawing at the iron collar on his neck. It seems to be much heavier than usual, making him feel weak. “Take it off!” he croaks out, his voice hoarse after all the screaming.

“I'd love to, pumpkin, but Angel won't let me. Stubborn little girl – she took this after me. She didn't like that you attacked me. You know that collar only unlocks by her powers, so how about you promise you won’t do it again, and we can get rid of it?” Jack’s speech is sweet and calm, like Rhys really didn’t mean to burn him alive. But the fact that Angel is involved changes something for the young man.

He had still never met Angel. He’d been seeing her in his dreams, but his dreams are an altered version of reality. If she never even existed, he wouldn’t notice. If she’d been dead for years, he wouldn’t know. Jack could be lying about his genius, miraculous daughter protecting him to get Rhys to promise something. It could be a trick – if superpowers exist, magic can too, and an oath can affect the rest of his life. Right?

“Where is Angel?” he asks warily. “How could she even know about that? Did she see you cut my eye out?”

Jack winces. “I… I think she did. I already told you that she sees things, and she is somehow connected to you. She knew about you since forever. So, yeah, she saw what happened, and she saw you attack me. She used her powers to stop you; not me.” In that moment, he looks like any proud father. “So, do you promise to never do it again?”

Sighing, Rhys nods his head. “Yeah, Jack… Angel. I promise I’ll never attack Jack again.” Nothing happens, and Jack frowns, looking puzzled. Rhys rolls his eyes, but a hint of amusement fills the void of despair currently filling his chest. He offers a pinky to Jack. “Pinky promise that I’ll never try to hurt any of you ever again.”

With a raised eyebrow, Jack hooks his pinky with Rhys’, and the collar snaps open. For Rhys, it’s like a breath of fresh air after walking out of a burning house… Not like he knows how being in a burning house feels, or how did this parable get into his mind.

The power is there, within the reach of his hand. He could focus a little, and Jack would go up in flames, again. Instead, he focuses on the smell of burning. Wood, old rugs, leaves. The sound of burning and screams fills his ears. When he closes his eyes, he can almost see the place—

“Rhys!”

Jack sounds panicked as he shakes his shoulder. “Whoa, that was… Are you alright, kitten? You looked… pretty weird. What just happened?”

One blink, and the picture, sound and scent are gone. “I don’t know,” Rhys hums, trying to focus on it again, but it’s gone. “I don’t know if it was a vision of the future, or if I’m just somehow connected to fire… Does that even make sense? That I think of fire and see fire?”

“Probably?” Jack shrugs. “Mother nature went all freaky when she created you – a male Siren. Anything is possible. Now, do you want to stay in bed all day, or do you want to see all the cool tricks your new eye can do?”

Excited like a child, Jack pulls Rhys out of bed, even though he wanted to lay for a few more hours. “Look at something with your left eye only!” he pulls his face towards the fridge in the kitchen by his chin. “Come on, focus!”

Doing as he is told, Rhys focuses on seeing through his left eye. The world seems sharper when he looks through it, but focusing like that, he can see the blue hue it gets. That’s probably the cost.

A little dent in the fridge door catches his attention, and without giving it a thought, Rhys focuses on that. He is surprised that, when he closes his right eye completely, his left eye kind of enhances the picture he sees. He sees a detail of the dent, and a thought of Jack’s rings comes to his mind.

“This is cool,” he notes. “And freaky.”

When he opens his other eye, the effect is lost. It would probably cause a terrible headache if he tried to see both enhanced and normal picture at the same time, so he is glad for that. This will take a lot of time getting used to, but it might definitely have some perks.

“What else can it do?” he asks. He looks at other things. Looking at fruits in a bowl tells him how ripe it is and how much Jack dislikes this particular type. Looking out the window at trees tells him the names of them, the use for their wood, leaves and fruits and how much this particular tree pisses Jack off. “Why does everything include your personal notes?”

“Well, right now, it’s taking information from me, Angel, and every book in this house. Once you connect to internet, however, you’ll have access to all the information in the world. But I don’t have wi-fi here.”

Jack’s explanation makes sense about as much as everything else. When Rhys’ head begins to hurt, he goes to lay in Jack’s bed. He gets lunch there, and dinner too.

Rhys thinks about his new powers a lot. He doesn’t have any idea how to control them. Manipulating fire came to him naturally – he can set things on fire or extinguish it. His visions don’t obey him at all, however. He tries to ask himself questions or focus on some points in the nearby future, but they aren’t coming.

When he focuses on fire, though, Rhys has the weird vision again. The smell of smoke, indistinguishable noise, burning. It makes the blood in his veins thrill, makes him excited. Something will happen, and he’s gonna like it.

Before they fall asleep, Jack makes love to Rhys in the gentlest way. He kisses every inch of his skin, holds him close in a warm embrace, fucks him deep and slow. He whispers that he loves him, that he is sorry that he had to hurt Rhys, but tomorrow, it will all be worth it.

In his dreams, Rhys sees fire. Flames reaching high, touching the dark sky and swallowing the building, sending it straight to hell. When he tries to focus on the building, though, he can’t. In the dream, he’s too mesmerized by the beautiful flames.

* * *

The Siren can barely remember the last time he saw the sky and felt fresh air hit his cheeks, the breeze ruffling his hair. As Jack leads him out of the house, he can hardly believe it. The sun is up already, and it makes walking through the forest so much easier than when it was raining.

Jack is excited, just like he was on some very unfortunate occasions. It unnerves the Siren a little, but he is also still full of love from the previous nights. He follows Jack until they are on a forest road, and then he recognises the direction.

“Where are we going?” he asks, nervousness raising.

“Do you trust me, pumpkin?” Jack asks instead of answering. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long. My beautiful, amazing Siren. Together, we can do great things. And we are starting today. We’re gonna cleanse this planet with fire.”

It sounds disconcerting, but at the same time, the mention of fire makes Rhys giddy, and he follows without further questions. Instead, he and Jack talk like a normal couple, chatting about the weather and their plans for the evening. _I’m gonna fuck you so much I’ll be able to shove my fist inside you_ , Jack promises, and for some reason, it’s hot.

When they arrive to the border of the forest, and Rhys sees the foster house, he loses courage, though. He voices his concerns for his life, but Jack shushes him.

“Do you seriously think they could hurt you? Think harder, kitten.”

He’s smirking and joking, but he also stopped. “I’ll stay here,” he explains as he fishes something from his pocket. It’s a little round piece of gold. He blows at it, removing some of the dust that covers it. “I’ll be with you, though. With this lens, I’ll be able to see what you see and talk to you.” Just as he explains it, he starts putting the gold piece, that truly vaguely resembles contact lenses, to his eye.

“Jack, wait!” Rhys jumps forward, grasping his wrist and stopping him. “Are you crazy?! You’re gonna hurt your eye!”

But the other man just chuckles. “Don’t worry, cupcake. This is absolutely safe. Angel’s magic, remember?”

Rhys’ stomach twists when he sees the gold make contact with an unprotected eye. Jack doesn’t seem disturbed, even though it should hurt terribly, and the piece makes blinking impossible.

“Huh, it works,” he says, and Rhys hears it both with his ears and inside his head. “You can go now. I’ll tell you what to do once you arrive.”

Eyeing the gold suspiciously for the last time, Rhys heads off. Jack stays hidden behind the trees, regularly telling him that he’s got nothing to be afraid of, that he’s got a plan, and everything will be alright.

The young man is not so sure. He’s only got bad memories for the foster home. Bullying, not enough food and clothes, Vasquez. He loved Vaughn, and there was definitely something between him and August too, but those were about the only good things he had there. The rest was constant drudgery, abuse and the fact that anyone could have bought a night with him at any moment.

Half expecting that he’ll be shot on spot as soon as he nears the house, Rhys is quite surprised when he stands in front of it. It looks smaller than he remembers. The noises coming from inside tell him that it’s Sunday, all kids are made to serve high number of guests, many girls and boys probably being sold and raped at the very moment.

 _Good job, cupcake,_ Jack speaks in his head _. Now, set that thing on fire._

“What?”

_Burn it._

Rhys’ eyes widen. So, this is what Jack meant by cleansing with fire. Literally. He had no idea, couldn’t imagine that he’d be asked to do something like that. It’s always been Jack who did the bad things.

“I can’t,” he whispers. “Jack, I can’t hurt people…”

_The people who hurt you and dozens of others? Do you want them to continue doing that; don’t you wish to stop them?_

“But there are innocent kids…”

_Yes, there are, pumpkin. Kids that have been hurt, raped, abused. Do you think they want to live in the world that did this to them? If you try to help them, they’d probably just kill themselves later. You’re doing them a favour, Rhysie. Do it!_

Rhys closes his eyes. This… This is not right. It’s fucked up.

_Do it! If you love me, Rhys, if you love Angel, you’ll burn that cursed house down. Do you want more children to get into their hands? Do you want them to go through such abuse? I thought that you’d be a better person…_

“I am a good person!” Rhys is maybe too loud, but he feels like he needs to scream to quiet the thoughts that are agreeing with Jack. This is not him. This can’t be him.

“Who’s there? Rhys?”

Vasquez doesn’t get to finish the question before he is hit with a ball of fire. It comes out as a reflex. Rhys acts first and realises that he is in danger second. And he doesn’t think. Vasquez must’ve heard him, peeking out of the front door to see who is making noise, but the force of the blast sets him aflame and sends him flying backwards into the house.

Somebody screams, then someone cries. “Murder! Somebody killed Hugo!”

Rage boils in Rhys. Murder?! That monster was hardly human, it was a sociopath, and Rhys did the world a favour here. _That’s it, kitten_ … He’s gonna show them. _Another_. Fire engulfs Rhys first, and the voice in his head grows nervous for a second. Then, all the flames are released from his body, splitting into various streams in front of him and hitting every window in the building.

More screams fill the air. Also smoke, the noise of burning, panic. Something explodes. Rhys stands still and watches people try to reach doors, windows, anything, but his flames seem to have some kind of consciousness, blocking every path out. Nobody can escape him.

When the whole building is being swallowed by flames, Rhys turns away. The gesture sends a thrill through him, he offhandedly notes that he has a half-chub between his legs and that he doesn’t have any clothes on anymore. It must have burned away.

The screams die out one by one as Rhys walks away. He feels light. Jack was right, he helped them. No child will be hurt anymore. This should have been done long ago.

 _I’m so proud of you, kitten. Come home_.

When Rhys reaches the line of trees, he hears sirens in the distance. Too late, he thinks as he goes to hug Jack. The older man frowns a little at his naked form.

“Have anyone seen you like that?” The possessiveness in his voice is loud and clear.

“Nobody who lived to tell,” Rhys shrugs.

That calms Jack, and they walk back home together. They don’t talk much about what happened, and Rhys is content just holding Jack’s hand. They eat beef steaks for a late lunch, a treat. Then, Jack takes Rhys to the cellar, ties him to the metal desk and creates a hole in his skull with a screwdriver and hammer. A piece of eridium and gold is jammed in the hole, and then Rhys heals, and his screams quiet down.

“This will make the connection between us more stable. I had some signal problems with the lens. Now, you’ll be connected to my wristband like Angel.”

Rhys absolutely loves that idea. He almost asks when they can burn something else to the ground, but first, it’s time for Jack to keep his promise.

Rhys is tied with his arms behind his back and legs spread with a bar, and Jack is fucking him with his impossibly huge fist while he screams through his fifth orgasm. He was fucked two times to loosen up, and Jack used a lot of lube to do this. Rhys still tore a lot, but healed immediately.

On the next day, they burn down a prison, and then another in a different city. Jack apparently owns cars, even though there is no road leading to his house. The car is just waiting on the far road in the morning.

Each day, Rhys grows stronger, and soon, he can even control his visions. The one he likes the most is the one where him, Jack, Angel and a little boy play in a garden behind their house. He doesn’t know where the boy comes from, because when he tries to focus on that, he only sees himself and Jack having sex.

When the first few people – a SWAT team – try to raid their house, Rhys burns them so not even ash remains while Angel holds them in place, so they don’t accidentally set something on fire while trashing and screaming. He can predict every move done against them, and he sure as hell will protect his family. If he ever has doubts, he remembers that police aren’t always right. They never stopped the things happening in the foster home.

Another of his favourite visions is Angel. Rhys hadn’t met her yet, but he often sees her playing with her toys or with Jack. Her father braids her hair and tells her bedtime stories, hugs her and tells her that she is the best daughter he could ever wish for.

One night, as Jack is pounding into Rhys from behind, he growls promises into his ears: “I love you so much! I’ll breed you so hard you have babies! Would ya want that, huh? Give me a baby or two?”

There is a trail of drool falling from Rhys’ mouth, his eyes are rolled back into his head, but he still manages to answer something vaguely senseful. “I, _oh my God_ , I, _Jack_ , I can’t, _ah_ , have babies. _Ooooh!_ I’m a, Imma man. _Ah, Jack!_ I, _ah_ —! It’s impossible!”

“Not for long, sweetheart.”

On the next morning, Rhys finds himself tied to the metal table. Jack is preparing two syringes to knock him out, and there is a pouch sewn from leaves and grass laying on a metal table next to him. When Rhys wakes up, the pouch is gone, and there is a cross-shaped scar on his stomach.

Already heavily pregnant, Rhys finally learns where does everything the house needs come from. The Cult of the Vault apparently do anything Jack wants them to do because he has two Sirens, and so he has anything they wish for brought to his door. It’s basically a delivery service. When he asks, Rhys even gets a report of how his parents died – Mother during his birth and father was the sacrifice.

Weeks before their son is born, Rhys finally meets Angel too. Jack leads him into her room with a loving smile, opening the door for him for the first time. There are no pink walls, soft rugs or toys. There is only the big chair from various materials and two stuffed toys, a mattress on the floor and few empty dishes. The girl’s eyes are white as she sees everything through that chair. And it doesn’t take Rhys long to figure out that the things he saw before were just pictures and scenes the girl created for herself to feel more normal while she is locked here. He is so proud of her.

**Author's Note:**

> You can chat with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ElfWriting).
> 
> If you've read this work, you have my hones admiration. Thank you for reading, leaving Kudos or comments if you dare to. I love you all!


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